


Accident of Birth.

by Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels), valuna



Series: Feudalverse [1]
Category: British Actor RPF, Dracula 2000 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-07
Updated: 2005-09-07
Packaged: 2017-10-07 18:50:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/68114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannamichaels/pseuds/Lanna%20Michaels, https://archiveofourown.org/users/valuna/pseuds/valuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The king is dead. Long live the king.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accident of Birth.

**Author's Note:**

> Series warnings: It's a medieval society with all the Machiavellian twists you'd imagine. Expect some rough sex, noncon.
> 
> Part warning: Incest.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is fiction, and it has nothing to do with reality. There's no relation between the actors who have the faces associated with the characters we've created.

Their corner of the world isn't very big, not a major player in the world's power struggle. That's fine. The court has enough friends in high places to make controlling it a desirous goal. For one who wants to be king.

Being a younger son has its privileges, and Jon's satisfied with them. He's able to stay in the background, blend in and listen at meetings, stay safely out of his older brother's reach. Until their father dies. The state funeral's today, and Jon's not looking forward to it. Too many dignitaries. One certain general Jon definitely would prefer to avoid. His walk to calm himself ends in the throne room. The dais is raised, three steps above floor level, and the throne is ornate in its simplicity, high wooden back and rich tapestry cushions.

He stops on the middle step, tugging at his uniform, garb of a second son, the one subjected to military training, to learning what he had an inclination, but no desire, for. There's an hour before the ceremony begins, time to stand and take in the silence.

Jude tugs down the sleeves of his shirt as he enters the throne room. His coronation is tomorrow morning and this may be the last time he'll be able to be alone by the throne until then. He's waited so long for his chance that a part of him can hardly believe that it's come. But it has, and the throne is his at last. And no one, no one, is going to take it from him.

It's a surprise to see Jon by the throne, but it's not a shock. Jude climbs the stairs to his throne and sits down on it like he has so many times in his dreams. "Yes, Jon?"

Jon moves up a step as Jude sits down, putting himself on the top step, rightful position as second son, not that he really cares. He has no aspirations for the throne. Jude can have it, and all the politics that go with it. "Nothing, Jude," he says, voice hushed even though the room's empty. "Just awaiting your arrival, Father's body."

Jude nods. "It's a sad day," he says. It's an empty phrase, one he'll be repeating a mind numbing amount of times today. "What have you been doing in here?"

"Polishing your crown, brother," Jon says dryly. There's a faint smile creasing his lips. "And staying out of sight."

"I've noticed you were keeping yourself scarce." Jude approves. When Jon's out of sight, he's out of mind, and Jude doesn't want any question of succession brought up. He's already made the necessary arrangements with the general, but things can always go wrong. Jude doesn't want to take any chances.

"You taught me it's best to only be around when needed," Jon says, fingers still brushing absently against the soft silk of his top's hem. "And you didn't seem to have need of me."

"It's better for you to remain out of sight now," Jude says with a smile. "You're the son who can afford the time to be in mourning. I'll have need of you after the coronation."

"Lucky me." Jon knows better than to think it's a good thing to be needed by his brother. He has enough bruises to prove otherwise. "There's the wake tonight, after the funeral. Will you need me there?"

"Yes. You'll be able to give your recollections of Father with everyone else." Jude slides his fingers up his sleeve and touches the dagger hidden there. Before he hands Jon over, he's going to bloody him. "Don't let them see you cry."

"They never do." _You never do._ The words aren't spoken, but the look conveys the message. Jon won't give Jude the satisfaction of crying. Ever. No matter how much the pain.

"I have no desire to see you cry, little brother." If he did, he would have seen them by now. Jon never could refuse him anything. "Neither does anyone else."

_I'm not so sure of that._ "There's only a bit of time before the dignitaries arrive. I suppose I should make sure everything's in place, leave you to your thoughts," Jon says, cocking his head, managing a wry smile. "A private moment for your mourning."

Jude laughs. "Thank you, I needed that." Him, mourn. The very thought. "No one will enter until I give the word. We have time." He gives his brother a small smile. "Come up here, Jon."

The smile slides from Jon's face. He knows the implication in that tone. "What do you want, Jude?" he asks, stepping up to the dais.

"What I'm going to have from everyone tomorrow." Jude's smile widens. "Get on your knees, little brother."

"Supplication, homage to the king," Jon says. "Of course, my lord." He slowly sinks to one knee.

Yes. His king. Not yet, but soon. Jude licks his lips. "Both knees," he instructs.

"You would have me crawl, my king? Not very seemly." Jon's slow in going to both knees, leery of what he anticipates.

Jude doesn't care about seemly, but it might put suspicious marks on Jon's knees. "Very well. Stand up and walk over to me."

Jon's not even completely kneeling before he stands again. "As my king commands." He walks over, but doesn't drop back to one knee. "Or is it my brother who wants me?"

Jude refuses to look up at Jon. "Your brother, but your king would prefer you back on your knees."

There's a sigh, deep and long, and a half-hearted nod of his head in obedience as Jon sinks in front of Jude, kneeling. His hands go instinctively behind his back, that military education having had some of the effect his father hoped. "King. Brother. Outcome's the same. My choices limited."

"You have no choices." Jude unlaces his trousers and pulls his cock out.

Jon looks up. _Of course he'd want that. You're foolish to think anything's going to change._ And there's no buffer now. Jude doesn't have to worry about their father. Jon doesn't move, though. He's not going to make it any easier than it's ever been.

"Well, brother?" Jude asks, giving his cock a couple strokes. Everything has finally fallen into place and he wants this fantasy realized before he has to fulfill his end of the bargain. "Would you like an invitation?"

"An invitation can be refused. Do you want to risk it?"

"No." Jude's in no mood for coyness. "You could never refuse me, Jon, and now you have no choice."

"It's a cock, Jude. I'm not particularly fond of them," he says, mouth quirked in smile, "except my own. But if you command," he sighs, leaning in, sticking out his tongue and flicking it against the head, "I _am_ a loyal subject."

"I do command." It's wonderful being able to command Jon like this. If only it would last. But sacrifices have to be made and Jude intends to get as much from his brother as he can before it's over. "You know how I like it, Jon, and I don't like teasing."

Jon looks up. "Yes, I know. I wish I didn't." It's a lie. He loves his brother, more than he should. No more teasing at the moment, though, as Jon sucks the head between his lips, teeth grazing as he leans forward, taking more in.

Much better. He's dreamed about this for ages, having Jon's mouth on him while he sits on his throne. Jude pushes Jon's head forward. It's not seemly to look like he wants it too much, but Jon already knows, so it doesn't matter. "Keep going," he mutters under his breath.

_Keep going._ There's a small urge to bite, miniscule but floating in his brain as he sucks harder. _Bastard sibling._

That's exactly how Jude likes it. He keeps Jon's head in the right place and starts thrusting into him. This won't be the last time, but Jude wants it as good as it can be.

Jon sucks. It's his duty, loyal to the crown _and_ his brother. He gets no pleasure from it, but that doesn't surprise him. Whores aren't supposed to enjoy the sex, just have it.

It's a beautiful sight and Jude drinks it up. He forces his cock down Jon's throat until Jon's choking on it, then squeezes the back of Jon's neck. It's not hard enough to bruise, but they'll both be able to see the invisible mark for days to come.

The choking's not faked. Jon can barely take the push of Jude's cock down his throat, and he's gagging when Jude squeezes his neck, tugging back against the fingers holding him tight. He's ready for it to be over.

The gagging sends Jude over the edge and he lets Jon pull back long enough to swallow.

Jon swallows, best he can, determined not to drip out onto his uniform. There's no time to change. He pulls away more, shaking his head from Jude's grasp, and kneels back, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. "Happy now, brother?"

"Beyond words." Jude tucks his cock back into his trousers and laces himself back up. "Lick your lips."

"Why?" Jon wipes the corner of his mouth with his thumb. "It's not that good, Jude."

"I know, but I want to see it." Jude smiles down at him. "And you want to do everything I say, don't you?"

"Not really. I prefer to do what I want." Jon licks the pad of his thumb, then swipes quickly at his lips. "But, then again, there's that loyal subject thing."

"Yes. How horrible for you." _If only you knew what I have planned for you._ Jude's smile turns sinister. "How very terrible."

There's something in the smile that shivers Jon, shudder running down his spine. _What are you planning, brother?_ He hasn't time to worry with it now. The funeral's less than an hour away, Jude's coronation another 24 hours after that. He returns the smile as he stands, straightens his uniform.

Jon wouldn't smile if he knew what the week had in store with him. Jude does, and he grins. He waves his hand. "You're dismissed, Jon. Do stay out of sight."

"Yes, my lord." Jon turns, not bothering to back down the steps as would be more proper -- after all, Jude's not king yet -- and lets himself out the room's side door.

Jude's smile freezes as Jon turns his back on him. Jon will pay for that. Brother or no brother, he had no right. But Jude doesn't have time to plot. He smoothes down his clothing and rises from the throne. There are people to see and fathers to bury. He'll plot later.


End file.
